


Psychos In Love

by thenewnationalanthem (moxielovesshipping)



Series: I Want To Be With You [6]
Category: IT (2017)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Psychopaths, Attempted Murder, Crossdressing, Feminization, First Kiss, Hatred, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Light Dom/sub, Light Sadism, Love/Hate, M/M, Masochism, Mind Manipulation, Obsession, One Shot Collection, Pet Names, Psychopathology & Sociopathy, Psychopaths In Love, Self-Harm
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-12
Updated: 2017-12-17
Packaged: 2019-02-13 19:29:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 3,864
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12990951
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/moxielovesshipping/pseuds/thenewnationalanthem
Summary: You can never have just one.





	1. Masochism and The Human Experience

**Author's Note:**

> DO NOT READ IF YOU DONT LIKE 
> 
> ***SELF HARM
> 
> ***ATTEMPTED MURDER
> 
> ***PSYCHOPATHY

Stan recognized him as soon as he entered the door, hair slightly wet and pressed to his head.

 

He was taken aback by the dry, dead look on his face, but it fascinated him how quickly he could smile.

 

Bill Denbrough was a mystery all himself.

 

Bill took a seat next to Stan, pretending to ignore him as he pulled out his textbook with a faraway look in his eyes.

 

"That's the wrong page."

 

"How would you know?" Stan huffs, looking down at his books' pages at random, "Your book isn't open."

 

Bill laughs, and Stan's eye twitches in irritation, it gets worse as Bill's finger taps the table to a silent tune. "I guess it's not."

 

Stan squints his eyes at that, eyes that deadlocked with Bill's finger. "That's so fucking annoying."

 

"Yeah?" He grins, trying to make contact with Stan. "I guess I just can't seem to help myself."

 

"You never can, can you?" Stan mumbles, smirk forming on his face as Edward Kaspbrak saunters in the room. Bill's tapping stops, his body nearly stills, but a huge smile breaks out onto his face. His eyes follow him, up until the moment he leans into the face of one of Bill's worst enemies, and right there, for the entire class to see, kisses him.

 

"See something you like?"

 

His smile falls only quickly, before picking back up as he turns to Stan. Stan suppresses a shiver at how his gaze rakes against his skin, and his eye twitches again ever so slightly. "Always."

 

"What brings a _genius_ like you to basic English?"

 

Bill chuckles softly, and Stan can swear his leg brushes against his. "We all have prerequisites."

 

"That was sarcasm."

 

"I heard."

 

Stan smiles at that, a dark and sinister smirk, and he nearly laughs again when Richard Tozier comes their way.

 

"Hey Stan! Bill!" He grins, sitting on their desk and Bill gives him a once over.

 

Stan kind of wants to ask him if he loves Richie too.

 

"It's unsanitary to do that. Didn't your _boyfriend_ teach you anything?"

 

"Yeah but, they're _all_ unsanitary things!" He laughs, but Bill just taps away on his textbook.

 

Stan glances between the two, and Richie soon gets bored with stares and silence.

 

"You guys are no fun. Byeeee Stan the man! Bye Big Bill!"

 

Stan sighs, longsuffering, rolling his eyes in apathy. "Bye Richie."

 

"You two are still good friends."

 

"You two _used_ to be goos friends."

 

"Hm."

 

"You major in psychology now?"

 

"It suits me."

 

Stan laughs at that, because he's right. As he's doing so, though, he can feel Bill's hand on his thigh.

 

A test.

 

A question.

 

"I guess it does." He deadpans, but his blood is rushing with a familiar touch.

 

He never told Richie what he did in his spare time.

 

He'd have had a fit had he'd known it was Bill.

 

Still, he stares forward, focused on the sound of heels hitting the ground.

 

"You know, I missed you, Stan. Very much."

 

"Of course you did."

 

He smiles at that, bright and wide.

 

"I want to see you again." He whispers, but Stan doesn't jump when a tight squeeze is applied to his thigh.

 

"Here I am."

 

" _Privately._ " He says, teeth gritted, void of hesitation.

 

Such a different person than Stan knew in high school.

 

How quickly he could change, was astounding.

 

Stan loved it.

 

"Of course."

 

" _Good boy._ " Bill says, and Stan exhales in joy.

 

Psychology really fit Bill well, he knew exactly how to put things in their proper place.


	2. FemmeBot

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Everything about her is perfect.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ***FEMINIZATION
> 
> ***CROSSDRESSING
> 
> ***SELF DOUBT

Richie's feet were killing him in these heels, but he didn't care, because he thought he looked kind of hot.

 

He'd taken an hour or so, who was counting, to get the perfect wing on his eyes, smoky and seductive, just the way that Eddie liked them.

 

He didn't think his tall, lanky frame would look good in lingerie, but when he'd slipped it on and took a look in the mirror, even he had to admit he looked amazing.

 

"Damn baby, you look fire!" He laughs, shooting finger guns at himself in happiness.

 

Some part of him, the dark parts, felt...disgusting, though.

 

Those parts of him made him want to curl up and cry, and scream, and yell, and rip all these clothes off.

 

Wipe off his makeup.

 

Take out his earrings.

 

Straighten his hair again.

 

Things Eddie had told him specifically not to do.

 

He laughed it off, and took a shaky breath, and winced as his feet shift awkwardly in his heels.

 

This was wrong. It was  _all_ wrong.

 

So why did it feel so  _good?_

 

Richie felt...like himself when he dressed like this.

 

He felt pretty. He felt loved. He felt like...a princess.

 

No.

 

A  _queen._

 

Looking down at her kingdom in pride, bejeweled with expensive necklaces and bracelets that his, er,  _her_ king had bought for her. 

 

Eddie had told him the most important part of playing a role is to stay in character.

 

Which means that Richie really needed to stop referring to himself as a handsome 20 year old male, and start referring to himself as--

 

"Beautiful." She hears, and her body stiffens as thin arms fold around her waist. She lets them, of course, though she stumbles a bit. "Careful, sweetheart. We don't want to fall. What's the occasion?"

 

She looks at herself in the mirror, lightly flipping a curl out of her eye and smiling soft. She hoped her lipstick wouldn't crack. "I was thinking we could have a nice dinner."

 

"You want to go out?" He asks, and her heart pounds hard with those simple words.

 

Richard Tozier would love to go out.

 

Hell, he would  _suggest_ it.

 

But her? Well, she didn't think she was ready.

 

"I-I don't think--"

 

"Don't think. Do you  _want_ to go out?" He questions, making small circles on her exposed stomach, and it warms her insides up. She remains silent, so his grip gets tighter, pulling her closer. "Well, darling?"

 

"I--I do." He says, and his voice cracks a little, and he wants to cry.

 

He really does.

 

"Hey, hey, don't cry baby." He soothes, and he shuffles them over to the bed as forceful as he could.

 

Richie thinks it'd be so much easier if Eddie were like this and not him. 

 

Her bare legs hit silk sheets, and the throbbing in her feet stops. "I want t-to,"  She sniffles, "b-but what if they make fun of me Eds? What if they t-talk about me?"

 

"Oh sweetie..." He whispers, pressing soft kisses to her skin, mumbling against it. "I'll do what I always do...I'll kill them."

 

She laughs outwardly at that, relaxing as his hand finds it's way to her upper thigh. "You kill way too quickly, Eds."

 

He shrugs against her, then lifts her chin with his finger and makes her face him. "I can slow down for you. I would do anything for you, Rich."

 

She looks into his eyes, darting her soft blue ones back and forth, outlined by darkness. She closes them he strokes her face, and she's under his spell for good. "R-really?"

 

"Of course, baby. Now, do you want to go out to dinner?"

 

She nods silently, but she knows that won't be good enough. He chuckles at her, grabbing her cheeks, soft but with authority.

 

A command.

 

"Use your words, Richie."

 

"Yes. I-I want to go."

 

He lets her go and stands up, extending his hand to lift her to her feet.

 

She feels like a princess.

 

No. A queen.

 

She obliges, and though she stands taller than him, he has control.

 

"Good. You should get dressed. Wear that pretty black dress I got you, people won't be able to resist."

 

She smiles at him and leans down to kiss him, and it feels like heaven against her lips. "I thought you wanted people to resist me, Eds."

 

"Then I wouldn't have a reason to kill them." He grins, then he pats her cheek and leaves the room, and her butterflies don't return.

 

She turns back towards the mirror, touching her body as if she's a different person.

 

She's gorgeous, she's perfect.

 

She's sick, she's twisted.

 

But she loves Eddie, and Eddie loves her, just like this.

 

So she smiles at herself and grabs her dress from the closet, watching as she slips it on.

 

She remembers when he got her this dress.

 

The first time she realized that she was in love with a sadistic murderer.

 

He'd placed it in her hands, still coated in blood, and directed her to wash it.

 

She wanted to tell, she really did, but the dress was so  _pretty._

 

So she did what she was told, and she's kept his secret ever since.

 

She grabs her purse, checks her makeup one last time to make sure it isn't smudged, and closes the door behind her. 


	3. Flying Solo

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stan's obsession with birds goes a little bit too far.
> 
> ***INSPIRED BY MICHAEL IN THE BATHROOM YOU GUYS BUT WITH A TWIST OF MEANT TO BE YOURS IM MUSICAL OBSESSED STFU

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ****attempted murder
> 
> ****self harm
> 
> CRAAAAAZY STAN
> 
> YOU LEAD ME NOWHERE
> 
> LEAD ME NOWHERE
> 
>  
> 
> AAAAAACTUALLYYYYY

"I hate this." He says, barely above a whisper, but even if he yelled, nobody would hear him. "I HATE THIS!"

 

He wants to cry, but he can't, because he isn't sad.

 

He can't feel...sadness.

 

Lonely.

 

Maybe he's lonely.

 

He laughs and shakes his head, leaning against the sink as he eyes himself in the mirror.

 

He could've talked him out of it.

 

He could've just fucking dosed him.

 

He could've made an excuse as to why he couldn't come with.

 

He could've just fucking killed him.

 

Still, Stan sighs, turning his back to the mirror.

 

His nerves were high, but he was calm.

 

For now.

 

"Stupid fucking Bill." He mumbles, and he starts idly tapping his fingers on the side of his leg as he paces the room. "Stupid fucking crush."

 

He hates that they even came to this fucking party anyways.

 

He hated that high school was like a cesspool of incessant whores and fuckboys, and Bill had fallen right into their trap.

 

He takes another breath, leaning his back against the cold tile wall, because he doesn't need to freak out.

 

_Get ahold of yourself, Stanley. It'll all be over soon._

 

"Well he shouldn't have fucking ditched me." He verbally argues, then he realizes there's nobody there. "Oh yeah, I'm  _crazy._ "

 

_He's not so normal himself, you know._

 

"Shut up!" Stanley screams, and he hates the way that the voice in his head laughs at his actions. "Fuck off."

 

He begins pacing again, whether out of boredom or confusion, but he feels a bit confined in the small bathroom.

 

He blames this all on Bill.

 

How he follows Eddie around like a fucking lapdog, seizing every moment he can to just catch a  _glimpse_ of that, that worthless  _child._

 

It makes Stan's blood boil that  _his_ boyfriend,  _his_ property is off flirting with someone else.

 

Actually...this was all Richie's fault.

 

_Sure, blame your best friend._

 

Stan scoffs at that.

 

Best friends? If Richie were his best friend, he would have kept his slut to himself.

 

Eddie always had it out for Stan, he could feel it.

 

The way how he went out of his way to hang with their group, the way he sat too close to everyone, the way he played all innocent and helpless.

 

It made Stan...angry.

 

"DAMMIT!" He slams his hands on the walls, and he realizes his face hot.

 

He pants again, resting his head back against the wall.

 

He was going crazy in this fucking room.

 

A knock on the door startles him, and he looks around in defense.

 

"Hey! Are you done yet?"

 

"Isn't there another bathroom in this house for you to  _fuck_ in." He remarks, deadpanned as he leans against the wall.

 

"Jerk!" The girl screams, and Stan chuckles at that.

 

Then his chuckle turns into a cackle.

 

Then a laugh.

 

He must be insane.

 

_Very much so._

 

"A jerk. A jerk! Can you believe it? She called me a jerk!"

 

He laughs some more, and he works up the courage to open the door, stumbling down the hallway out of psychopathy and intoxication. "Who wants to dance!!! You? You wanna dance with  _crazy Stan?_ "

 

People squint and scoff, moving out of his way as he teeters through the house. He keeps asking, begging for help, but all that comes out are slurs and giggles.

 

He's off the deep end.

 

_Go home._

 

"No way! This party looks like so much fun!" He shouts, and then he hits the kitchen, clumsily grabbing another can of alcohol. 

 

The room is bare, once everyone evacuates when he arrives, so he leans against the counter and hiccups.

 

Stupid  _fucking_ Bill.

 

He crushes the can in his hands and throws it to the ground, then rests his head between them. His eyes dart around, and the music is blasting in his ear.

 

He can hear drunk girls singing along to Whitney on the radio, and he wants to dance with somebody too.

 

Someone with red hair and gorgeous eyes.

 

Someone who's currently dancing between Richie and Eddie.

 

Richie and Eddie.

 

Eddie and Richie.

 

Reddie.

 

He was ready to go.

 

Ready to die.

 

Ready to--

 

"Hey are you okay?"

 

Someone says, and he stands up straight, eyes barely open and he gives her a stoic look.

 

"Peachy."

 

"Do you need--"

 

"I need to be alone, thanks." He spits, so the girl backs off, scoffing on her way out.

 

He didn't have a way with words with the ladies like Bill did, and that's why he hated them.

 

He didn't have a way with words with the men either, so he hated them too.

 

He hated everyone but Bill.

 

Bill, who was currently dancing between Richie and Eddie.

 

Richie and Eddie.

 

Eddie and Richie.

 

He moves his hand slightly, not even realizing that he's sliding, and something clatters to the ground.

 

He looks down, bending to pick it up, and smiles.

 

It's so shiny, clean, and new.

 

Not dingy, dirty, and old like Stan was.

 

He picks it up, and his brain wonders a few things.

 

Should he use it on himself, or Richie?

 

Or even better, Eddie?

 

Maybe even Bill.

 

Hm.

 

He examines it, in all it's glory, and he can't seem to decide.

 

So he does all his brain can think of doing.

 

He places his arm on the counter, splayed out, and makes a quick strike against his skin.

 

Stan doesn't even flinch.

 

_Why would you?_

 

He laughs at that, watching the blood flow from the shallow gash, then he sighs.

 

This was crazy.

 

Here he was, playing with a knife at a party he wasn't invited to.

 

This is an awful night.

 

An awful night he was supposed to spend with Bill.

 

Until Eddie asked him to dance.

 

And Bill obliged.

 

And Richie joined in.

 

In Stan's mind, they all deserved to die.

 

He couldn't kill Stan, though, because then he couldn't have him.

 

He could, but...no.

 

Did he need Bill alive to love him, though?

 

_Not really._

 

"Shut the fuck up." He whispers when someone passes by, and his eyes are dull as they make contact.

 

But the voice was right.

 

He didn't.

 

Because if Bill were dead, then Eddie couldn't have him.

 

Stan's face would be the last one he saw.

 

But Bill was so rare, like an Asian Crested Ibis.

 

Rare things are only rare when they don't exist anymore, he guessed.

 

So he hid the knife behind his back, smiling as he makes his way through the crowd.

 

He left a trail of blood behind him, pushing and shoving people out of the way until he spots them.

 

He laughs, even though he's surrounded by people.

 

His pretty little bird was going to fly high tonight.

 

"Bill!"

 

"Hey Stan!" He yells over the music, and Stan almost feels sorry for him.

 

But he can't.

 

He doesn't feel...sorrow.

 

He walks in front of him, and the world around them seems to come to a halt.

 

It's almost as if they were the only two in the room.

 

Stan was meant to be Bill's.

 

Bill was meant to be Stan's.

 

If Bill couldn't see it that way, well, that was a tragedy.

 

"Stan?"

 

And then he takes a chance, and pulls out the knife, his hand full throttle towards Bill, but then he's restrained.

 

"Let me go!!" He screams, and it's futile, because these hands feel familiar. "Richie, let me go!!"

 

"What the fuck are you doing??" Richie begs, and everyone in the house is still or screaming.

 

He hated high schoolers.

 

He looks into Bill's terrified eyes, and for the first time, his heart thumps.

 

He feels...remorse?

 

"You were going to stab me?" Bill says, and his voice is broken, and Stan's brain can't react.

 

"You left me alone!"

 

"Stan, baby, I--"

 

"Get back!" He screams, jabbing and fighting, but Richie isn't letting up.

 

He can hear sirens, and he expects Bill to do something.

 

Anything.

 

His eyes darken as Eddie holds onto Bill in fear, and he made the wrong choice.

 

He should've just killed Eddie.

 

That makes him laugh, loudly, even as Richie pushes him to the ground and sits on his back.

 

Even as the cops rush the house, and people separate or go home.

 

Even as he's carried out of the house.

 

Killing Eddie would have solved everything!

 

He realizes that, and Bill's eyes follow him to the cop car.

 

Then he rushes over, and the window is down, so they're nearly nose to nose.

 

"Why would you stab me?" Bill says slowly, and Stan tilts his head in confusion.

 

"You left me alone, Bill. I thought you loved me."

 

"I love you."

 

Stan scoffs, and slams his head on the back seat when he sees Richie show up behind Bill to usher him away.

 

"I love you!" Bill screams, and it sounds like the soft sound of a hummingbird's wings in the distance of sirens.

 

The car begins moving, but Stan doesn't care.

 

He doesn't regret a thing.

 

Because Bill doesn't love Eddie, he loves Stan.

 

Which was perfectly fine, even if they were years apart by now.


	4. 21 Questions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eddie has a few questions for his favorite sub.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fluff kinda?
> 
> Kinky kinda?
> 
> Crazy definitely?
> 
> I dunno, just sit back.

Richie loved when Eddie showed he cared about him.

 

Of course, he knew he did, but still, it was nice to see it, because Eddie rarely ever  _said_ it.

 

He guessed that came with the territory.

 

"Richie." Eddie demands, and Richie looks up from under his long, wet lashes and gives him an innocent glance.

 

"Yes?"

 

"Are these too tight?"

 

Richie pulls on the restraints and winces at the pain that comes with it, nodding to his superior. 

 

"Do you want me to loosen them?" 

 

Richie nods again, whimpering as Eddie seems to tower of him.

 

He treads carefully with his words, he didn't want Eddie to snap.

 

Not now.

 

Not _ever_ , but not now.

 

"Why should I loosen them? You keep pulling at them." 

 

"I-I won't struggle if you loosen them." Richie says calmly, and Eddie smiles.

 

It isn't  _sane,_ but it's a smile. 

 

"I know you won't baby, I know. How loose?"

 

"I-I don't want them to burn."

 

"What about your ankles?" Eddie asks coolly, loosening the rope that binds Richie to the table, as if it were an everyday task.

 

At this point, it was.

 

"Yes, my ankles too."

 

"Okay." Is all he mumbles, and he goes there to loosen those too, then dusts his hands on his pants as if it were hard work.

 

Richie scoffs at that.

 

"What?"

 

"Even when you're being a dom, you're still the same."

 

Eddie smiles at him, genuine, and rests his back on the only window in the room.

 

Even after 2 years, Richie couldn't locate this room if he tried.

 

"If I wasn't me, Richie, you wouldn't love me."

 

"Who would I love then, Eds?"

 

"Maybe Bill, or Stan." He says with malice, so Richie shuts his mouth. "Now, what toy should we play with today?"

 

Richie's blue eyes follow Eddie across the room as he pulls out their fun box, rummaging his hands through it. 

 

He swallows, and Eddie's the only one that could leave him speechless like this.

 

"Sh-shouldn't you choose?"

 

"Hm. You're sassy today. I don't fucking like that." He says with some purpose, but Richie thinks its just a little too demanding.

 

Did he really not like the fight?

 

The chase?

 

Was he bored with Richie?

 

Irritated?

 

"I can hear your thinking over here and it's bothering me." Eddie says, playfully waving a candle in front of Richie's eyes. "All you have to do is say the word, and this is over."

 

"I don't want it to be over." He says surely, but is he sure?

 

He must be.

 

He's been sure for 2 years.

 

He nods to himself to solidify it.

 

"So, then i need you to stay still and shut up, and stop thinking about whatever stupid shit you're thinking about and look at  _me._ "

 

Richie's face snaps around as the command is given, and he takes a deep breath as Eddie lights the candle.

 

"So, how are you feeling today, baby?"

 

"Wanted."

 

"By who?"

 

"You."

 

"And my name is?"

 

"Eddie." He answers, and the first drop of hot wax is always the hottest.

 

He'd think he would be used to it now, especially with the additive of oil. 

 

"What's my name, Richie? Just one word."

 

"Edward Kaspbrak." He challenges, and the playful chuckle he hears makes his cock jump slightly. 

 

A big dollop of white wax coats his stomach, and he lets out a groan as it spreads. "Oops. My hands slips."

 

"Brat."

 

"Yes, you are. I'll ask you one more time, or I swear I'll make a masterpiece on you, Tozier. What's my name?"

 

Richie pants in arousal as the wax sets on his body, and he tries his best to make cognitive choices.

 

Richie isn't the best at making cognitive choices.

 

"I can't hold a hot candle all day, Richie."

 

"Then put it down." His mouth decides to say, and boy is he in big trouble.

 

Eddie tsks and tilts the candle upside down completely, laughing maniacally as Richie squirms and whimpers. "There we go, now my hands are free. Now, I'm sure you have something to say to me." 

 

Richie smiles through the slight discomfort, lifting his head to look into brown eyes. "You did all that just to get me to call you daddy?"

 

Eddie pouts and leans into his face, arms behind his back. "I like when you call me that."

 

"Well then, _daddy,_ can you please untie me so we can get the rest of this show on the road?"

 

For a second, Eddie looks like he might do it.

 

Then his eyes get dark.

 

And darker, and he laughs.

 

"Bad boys deserve punishment, Richie. Don't you think you've been a bad boy?"

 

"Eds, don't you dare walk out. Eddie. Eddie!!" He calls out, but Eddie sashays away, only stopping at the door when he grins wide. 

 

"Oh! I almost forgot!" He says, digging into their  _other_ box of toys and pulling out a bullet the size of Eddie's fingerprint. He slides it into Richie's boxers and turns it on high, watching as his gorgeous sub pants. "Have a nice punishment, maybe next time you'll listen when I'm asking you a question. That's your problem, baby, you never listen."


End file.
